General Disassembly, Part Two

By Paul Caputo and Jeffrey Carl

The Richmond State, or at least the closest I could find to it
The Richmond State, January 25 1996

We faced the critical issue – covered up by the “mainstream” media, we still think – that THERE IS NAKED BOOTY ON THE VIRGINIA STATE SEAL. Although our understanding of the term “booty” was limited at the time and depending on how you look at it may have been inaccurate. That would still be very “on brand” for us, though, so whatever.

Hi.  We are Jeff and Paul. We have walked in the Halls of Power, stood on the Steps of Greatness, scuffed our feet on the Carpet of Destiny, and we were bored to tears.

Last week, we examined (“made fun of”) the Big Issues facing the General Assembly this term.  This week, we actually went there to see them in “action.”  We found that it was around about as much fun as pounding sand with your forehead.  This is how it went:

To get to the State Capitol, we walked up a series of terraced steps (identified by a sign that said “Terraced Steps”) that were designed perfectly for the rythmic walking pleasure of every Virginian who is either three or nine feet tall. Inside the Capitol, which Thomas Jefferson built with a Colonial Style Lego™ Set when he was eight years old, there were countless statues of Virginian heroes, ranging from Jefferson “Highway” Davis to John Marshall (famous for being History’s Ugliest Person, Ever) to one we think was Orville Reddenbacher, who was no bathing beauty himself. 

The Capitol is elegant, from the tasteful bland carpeting to the stately statues of Famous Dead Guys™, whose expressions made it seem as if constipation had been mandatory until the 20th century. The Official Seal of Virginia was embossed everywhere, including Dick Cranwell’s forehead. We noticed upon close inspection that the woman depicted on the Seal has her toga open.  We don’t wish to alarm you, but THERE IS NAKED BOOTY ON THE STATE SEAL. We predict that within months, this grossly immoral influence will lead to teenage pregnancy, “Juggs” magazine becoming a school textbook, and heretofore good citizens taking drugs, dressing up like clowns and eating main courses with the salad fork.  

Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

After minutes of sightseeing (“being lost”), we walked upstairs to the State Senate’s gallery, and sat down in a section marked “Press.” We were ejected when the doorkeeper, whose job it is to hate people, told us that we had to be from a  real newspaper to sit there. In fact, when we said we were from The Richmond State, she gave us a look like we had said “the Slothburg (Wisconsin) Times-Hernia” or “USA Today.”  So we sat in the section marked “Regular Schmucks,” which was crowded with spectators, excitedly blinking and twitching.

From the spectators’ balcony we could see the whole room, majestic yet very frumpy.  The Speaker is seated atop a raised platform, flanked by three or four billion clerks, hurriedly filing Important Documents (“Bill 867.5309: To make Shrimp Newberg the state’s official Zesty Seafood Dish”). 

The scene on the floor was just as we had imagined, except that there were no naked dancing girls and the senators did not wear togas. Actually, the Senate comprised entirely old white guys, some of whom were very lifelike.  Lieutenant Governor Don “King” Beyer, acting as Speaker, efficiently conducted the proceedings, speaking at such a rapid-fire pace that: 1.) we couldn’t understand what was going on (good), and 2.) we thought we had accidentally wandered into a mannequin auction (bad).  In fact, Paul went to scratch his nose and accidentally bought Fairfax County.

The edges of the room were ringed with Senate pages, ranging in age from ten to ten-and-a-half, trying hard not to pick their noses in front of daddy’s friends. Occasionally, a group of them would go off to  review legislation or play “Spin the Bottle.”  Most of the time, though, the pages  waited to take lunch orders of Chinese food and live rodents for the legislators, who were busy discussing (True Fact!) lighting regulations while trying to brush hair onto their bald spots.

The GA had a full day ahead of it: the Senate calendar for the day was several bajillion pages long, filled completely with abstracts of bills that looked like this:

S.B. 193.6 A BILL to amend § 9-6.141 of the Code of Virginia, relating to Improper pH Balances in Fish Tanks.

Patrons – McGargle and Fishbein

Reported from Committee to Help the Little Fishies with amendments (14-Y, 0-N, 3-D — You Sunk My Battleship)

Amendments adopted by Senate January 16, 3 -5 p.m. BYOB


1. Page 4, line 11, after 7B:




                        Death Penalty

2. Page 4, line 19, I before E except after C:





YEAS — Colgan, Saslaw, The Pointer Sisters, Your Mom, Fishburne —7

NAYS — 0

ABSTENTIONS — That Creepy Guy in the Back — 1

Committee Vote: 16Y, 42N, UFO 54-40

Cubs 16W 48L 35GB

20 If A$=“Oatmeal” then goto 40

Neutral-Chaotic Magic User, +20 HP, AC -7

Do Not Back Up; Serious Tire Damage Will Occur

Soylent Green is made from people

…and so on.

We ran into a Well-Known Richmond News Correspondent, who was busy interviewing a senator about a bill on (True Fact!) whether Virginia should require warning labels on marriage licenses (“Warning: Do Not Marry Roseanne Barr.”)  After greeting him in the manner of the Secret Brotherhood of Newsguys, (Password: “Why do you all have a liberal bias?”  Countersign: “Because we’re all poor.”) we asked him where to find something interesting to write about.  He suggested a certain financial committee wherein “pimply-faced Allen appointees” were regularly grilled by committee members, then served over rice in a light wine sauce.  

We sat in on the meeting that afternoon, and took our seats expecting a knock-down, drag-out Legislative Tag-Team Grudge Match.  What we got was an old guy with no pimples who began droning on interminably about how money was good, or something.  The committee members nodded politely and sank into deep comas.

The old guy talked for a while, then began to liven up.  He began using sweeping arm gestures and ringing, lyrical phrases to describe Phased Capital Investment.  Then he leapt onto the podium and started a musical number, describing Leveraged Interest Rates to the tune of “Jesus Christ, Superstar.”  The delegates behind him formed a kickline, using some sizzlingly daring modern jazz choreography; and the number ended with a scantily-clad lady stenographer lowered from the ceiling on a trapeze, juggling chainsaws.

Sorry, that was the dream Jeff had when he fell asleep.  Actually what happened was Paul woke Jeff up and we left in the middle to get Chinese food.

After lunch, we paid a visit to the House of Delegates, the busy schedule of which included extending Official Stately Commendations to (True Fact!) the Stonewall Jackson High School Golf Team, (Yet Another True Fact!) the American Automobile Association of Tidewater and (We Couldn’t Make This Up!) the Haunted Crack House, Inc.  In fact, the only three people in the state who weren’t commended for something were Jeff, Paul, and you.  But check tomorrow’s schedule; you may get lucky.  There was also a long list of Memorial Resolutions: so many, in fact, that the schedule read like the Times-Dispatch Obituary Section, except better written. 

The business of governing a state is a very dull thing: amending the Endangered Dirt Protection Act, appointing Junior Assistant Vice-Undersecretaries of Irritating Lottery Radio Commercials, and saying “Kudos!” to the field hockey team from the Hampton School for Abnormally-Masculine Girls. If we have learned one thing from this column, and we’re pretty sure we didn’t, it’s the same lesson that’s taught in an old story you’ve probably heard.  One day, a father decides his son should learn how to fish.  So they went on a trip to the woods, where they were devoured by rabid ferrets.  Actually, we’re not sure what the Hell that means.

Maybe it’s this: politics is not all fast cars and fast women. In fact, it’s more like ‘53 DeSotos and Bea Arthur.

Better them than us.

General Disassembly, Part One

By Paul Caputo and Jeffrey Carl

The Richmond State, or at least the closest I could find to it
The Richmond State, January 21 1996

At the time, the Virginia General Assembly was looking for a new state song to replace its old one, (which was, according to Paul, “Skull-crunchingly offensive and racist,”) the classic Civil War-era tune “Let’s Subjugate the Non-Whites.” This was the first part of our hard-hitting look at what the General Assembly actually does, which was “not much.” Paul and I presented our suggested replacement, which I think unfairly lost because it didn’t have music and we never officially submitted it.

Hi. We are Jeff and Paul, as enforcable by article 7-D, section 423 of the Virginia State Code.

We all know that there are certain places downtown that decent people just don’t go to at night.  Like the General Assembly.

Virginia’s General Assembly is back in “action.”  Each day, our wacky legislative pals perform that miraculous process (Photosynthesis?  We’re not sure.) whereby a Bill is suggested, sings to children on the courthouse steps, then Becomes a Law.  At least that’s the way it worked on “Schoolhouse Rock.”

But what do we really know about our state legislature?  What do they do all day?  And why does it cost so much?  Raise your hand if you can name more than two people in the General Assembly.  Any guesses?  No, “Catfish Hunter” was a relief pitcher for the Yankees.  Can anybody do it?  Does anybody want to?

Well,we don’t know anybody in the GA either. You could have named “I. P. Freely” and “Oliver Closeoff” and we wouldn’t have been able to correct you.  But the point remains that we simply need to know more about our state legislature.  As Thomas Jefferson probably said, “Ignorance of one’s legislature threatens democracy, and causes nausea and swollen lymph nodes in some cases.”

Well, fortunately for you – and your lymph nodes – we, Jeff and Paul, intrepid reporters, non-award-winning columnists and congenital smart-asses, are here to find out about the legislature, so you don’t have to.  This saves you, the reader, valuable Intellectual Effort points which can be redeemed at the end of the show for valuable prizes and little ceramic gnome statues. 

So this is the nub of our gist, if we’re allowed to use that expression in a family newspaper: this column is the first of a two-part investigative series on the Virginia General Assembly.  In the first part (“Part One”), we review the vital matters currently facing the GA.  In the second part (“The Second Part”), we will actually spend a day at the legislature, and presumably live to tell the tale.

There are many important and extremely serious issues facing the Commonwealth of Virginia. This is why the GA spends more than nine months out of every year arguing about what the Official State Song should be.

The current State Song , “God Bless White People” (or something like that) is seen by some as being somewhat “out of date,” or perhaps even “skull-crunchingly offensive and racist.” The more neutral proposed replacement, “O Virginia, Home of Many Kinds of Trees and Shrubs,” has actually bored several legislators to death. We think this recommends the song highly.  But the rest of us might eventually have to hear it, which would be bad.  Take as evidence the following lyrics from the song’s second verse (but don’t take them if you’re operating heavy machinery):

            “O state of ours, you are also in grass quite wealthy/

            Some of which is crab grass, which you should pull/

            To keep your lawn’s root structures healthy/

            And O dear Virginia keep thy weed-sprayer full.”

With only these two possibilities from which to choose, it’s no wonder that the General Assembly always is forced to put aside the serious issues (1. Who am I taking to the Legislative Prom? and 2. What would a grade school teacher do with more than $8,000 a year?) to discuss The State Song.

In lieu of our original plan (offering the Buttsteak song “Lint-Lover’s Pizza” as an alternative), we decided to write our own State Song. We did this and were very proud of our achievement until someone told us that the tune we used was exactly the same as the J. Geils Band’s “Hot Cross Buns.”  Also, the lyrics were all stolen from the theme song to “The Dukes of Hazzard.”

We made a list of all the things we think make Virginia great (or that would at least sound good in a song). The list we came up with (1. There are lots of mountains in it, and 2. It’s not New Jersey.) didn’t have enough rhyming words in it, so we decided to leave it and  come back to it.

Among the important issues facing the GA are (True Fact!) whether to allow judges to carry concealed weapons, whether to raise the legal driving age from 16 to 17 (Also A True Fact!), whether to raise the highway speed limit from 65 miles per hour to 70 (Still True!), and whether Keanu Reeves should be named the Official State Fruit (True In An Absract Sort of Way!). A recent NewsChannel 6 poll about these issues revealed that most Richmonders were watching another station.

Of course, the idea of allowing judges to carried concealed weapons is perfectly logical. It worked really well in “Judge Dredd.”  Judges constantly have to worry about the seedy unscrupulous types who frequent their court rooms every day. Also, they deal with a lot of criminals.

            LAWYER: Your honor, I object!

            JUDGE: Would counsel please approach the bench?

            LAWYER: Yes, your honor?

            JUDGE: Object to this, scumball!  BLAM! BLAM!

            The resulting increase in dead lawyers could be offset by importing leeches from swamps in Florida.

            The most intriguing possibilities facing the GA are the ones concerning driving. Apparently, the state legislature figures that since more than half of the people in state have figured out that you shouldn’t drive in reverse in the left lane on highways, and that “Yield” does not actually mean “Slam on your brakes!  Do it now!!!,” Virginians should be allowed more automotive freedom.

            While this seems fine at first glance, you should keep in mind that Virginians are the same people who thought that the best way to handle the road conditions during the Blizzard of ‘96 was to park their cars on top of each other sideways in the middle of Broad Street, and call Channel 12 for a ride to the grocery store.

Incidentally, we are in favor of raising the speed limit to 70, although we would also recommend introducing the Death Penalty for people who drive too slow.

We decided to incorporate all of this into our proposed state song.  Why?  We’re still not sure.  At any rate, here it is:

“Virginia: First In Our Hearts, But Fifth To Last in the Alphabet.”

(sung to the tune of “The Addams Family”)

            The ham is in the kitchen/

            The R-Braves, they are pitchin’/

            Virginia, you are bitchin’/

            And this is your state song.

            The judges, they are packin’/

            The murder rate is slackin’/

            The legislature’s backin’/

            Virginia’s new state song!

            Da da da dum (snap snap)

            Great folks!

            Da da da dum (snap snap)

            Phillip Morris smokes!

            Da da da dum, da da da dum! snap snap)

            No joke!

            O “Yield” does not mean stoppin’/

            Speed limits, they ain’t droppin’/

            At Ukrop’s we are shoppin’/

            Virginia really rules!

We’re trying to put a band together to record this song, so if you’re interested and you don’t play the accordion, contact us c/o The State.  We’d like to make a demo tape for the legislature.  We’re confident that, with a little luck, it will top the charts in Belgium.


©1996 Puff Carpluto

Mudslinging with a Catapult

By Paul Caputo and Jeffrey Carl

The Richmond State, or at least the closest I could find to it
The Richmond State, January 4 1996

With Richmond mayoral elections coming up, we threw our hat in the ring. Even though we both voted, we only received one vote. I suspect it was Paul. Anyway, the column was still pretty funny albeit littered with ultra-topical humor that has aged like room-temperature milk.

Hi.  We are Jeff and Paul.  As they say, life in politics is Hell.  As we say, so is watching “Mama’s Family.”

When we, Jeff Carl and Paul Caputo, announced that we were running for mayor (as the composite candidate “Puff Carpluto”), we promised to take on the Tough Issues.  Of course, we thought the Tough Issues were “Should I ‘Super-Size’ that Value Meal™ or not?” and “Should Keanu Reeves be executed immediately, or be tortured first?  You know?”

Well, it turns out that there really are Tough Issues, like how a great place like Taco Bell could produce something as putrescently vile as “Pintos and Cheese” – and, of course, the matter of Dirty Politics. It is a sad fact that political campaigns are sometimes waged with a ferocity normally reserved for Nuclear War and Fast-Pitch Softball.  It’s ugly, but it can’t be ignored, just like Roseanne.

We have discovered that our only competing candidate, Richmond Mayor Leonidas Young, has engaged in a sinister plot to be totally unaware of our existence.  It’s underhanded dealing like this that really gets our dander up, whatever that means.  We wanted to run a nice, clean campaign – one where each candidate would be judged on his/her/their merits, like their ability to play Whiffle Ball.  But NOOOOOOO.  Well, “Reverend”  “Leonidas” Young – if that is your real name – have it your way.  The gloves are off, and this time the hand is on the other foot, Mr. Mayor-Type Person.

Through our investigave journalism techniques (watching “Seinfeld” and drinking Mountain Dew until our eyeballs explode), we have discovered a copy of the script for Oliver Stone’s next movie. (Somebody wrapped a rock around it and threw it through Paul’s car windshield.)  Stone, as you may know unless you’re from Outer Space, or possibly Canada, is famous for controversial films (such as “JFK,” which revealed that Kennedy was assassinated by the CIA, Fidel Castro and “Barney the Dinosaur;” and “Nixon,” which revealed that Nixon was a “jerk.”)  Stone’s next target is the sordid and sinister career of RICHMOND’S OWN LEONIDAS YOUNG. Wow, right?!  You know?

So, anyway, here are highlights from the upcoming movie:


an Oliver Stone film

brought to you by Jiffy Lube, National Public Radio, Girl Scout Troop #327, and the letter “Q”

The movie begins with young candidate Leonidas Young (played by James Earl Jones) accepting campaign contributions from a shadowy representative of a “big, out-of-town company” that wants to “build a major facility” in the Richmond “area.”  Reporters discover that the representative is Darth Vader (also played by James Earl Jones).  His plans to build a third “Death Star,” just north of Chippenham Parkway, are scrapped when he proposes a new Toll Road to access it.

Threatened by a news story revealing his shadowy years as a “Foxy Boxing” promoter, Young blackmails NewsChannel 6 anchor Charles Fishburne (David Hasselhoff), threatening to reveal that Fishburne is actually a Muppet. Young (J. Earle Dunford) blackmails the other major stations as well (threatening to reveal Lisa Schaffner’s role in the movie “Prison Girls, Part 7” and Gene Cox’s days as a  KGB telemarketer). Fox-35 gets the story but boldly decides to “bump” it for a story about a surfing nun who is a “close personal friend” of several Space Aliens (Prince).

Newly-elected Mayor Young (Scorpio) plots against a political rival (Steve Guttenberg), and strikes a deal with members of an underworld “family” (the Pointer Sisters) known only as “Allen, Allen, Allen, Allen, Allen & Allen.”  The next day, his political opponent is speaking at a rally when an unknown assailant in the crowd brutally sues him.  

The mayor’s popularity surges when he announces his plans to change Richmond’s motto from “Richmond: Gunshot Flesh Wound Capital of the World” to “Richmond: Many of Us are Still Alive,” and hires Police Chief Jerry Oliver (Wesley Snipes) to improve the city’s crime rate (Jimmy “J.J.” Walker). At a year-end press conference, he gloats over the mere 118 murders (TRUE FACT! That’s only one every three days!) in the city in 1995.

“Hey,” he says, “That’s pretty damn good, especially compared to other large cities, like Sarajevo.”

Young’s popularity peaks when Richmond sculptor Paul “But is it Art?” DiPasquale (Joe Pesci) presents plans for a sculpture of  Young (see page 137) to be placed on Monument Avenue. Young is pictured holding a tennis racket, riding on a horse (John Goodman), and, inexplicably, eating a Pop-Tart (Madonna) (Get it?  It’s witty.  “Pop” … “Tart?”  Aw, Hell with it.)  But his empire soon begins to crumble.

Richmond Times-Dispatch Editor Ross McKenzie (Satan) attacks the statue (Kevin Costner) in the paper’s editorial, saying, “Maybe we could have a special place for statues of black people … like someone’s basement. Furthermore, Bill Clinton is fat.”

Young tries to pressure the Times-Dispatch (Steven Seagal), threatening to reveal all those calls they made to the “George Allen Fantasy Chat Line.”  For a time, it appears to work: two Times-Dispatch reporters (Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman) investigating Young’s story mysteriously decide to quit their jobs, saying that their newspaper is “a pile of crap.”  Actually, that’s not mysterious at all.  Two Style Weekly reporters (Pauly Shore and ALF) investigating the same story are stonewalled, because nobody will believe they work for a real newspaper.

Days later, as Young (BA ‘67, MBA ‘74) is leaving church, TV news reporter Biff McNamara (Patrick Swayze) rushes up to the mayor, claiming to have have uncovered the shocking secret that he “was getting some serious ‘second-base action’ with former U.N. Ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick (Gary Coleman).”  Young (4 Grammy Nominations), cool under fire, escapes the veteran reporter by pointing behind him and shouting, “Wow! Isn’t that ‘Sir Woofs-a-Lot,’ the talking dog?” and running away.  The reporter is discovered several days later in the same place, asking passersby if they have seen a talking dog, and then getting punched.

Young is disturbed that reporters have found the ugly secret truth (Roseanne, see above).  But who is the “leak” on the inside? 

We don’t want to ruin the movie for you, but since it doesn’t actually exist (Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson), why not? The leak turns out to be the Pope, who is involved with a conspiracy implicating the Cubans (Paul Rodriguez and Manny Mota), Gerald Ford (Chevy Chase) and most of the 1973 Philadelphia Flyers. 

In the most dramatic moment in any movie ever – except maybe the shower scene from “Stripes” – Young (Neutral-Chaotic Magic User, +20 HP) holds a press conference, blaming his problems on “cholesterol addiction.” He resigns,and travels the country,getting paid Two Bajillion dollars an hour to speak at graduations and Bar Mitzvahs.

Now you know the real story, except for most of it, which was “totally false.”  Furthermore, if Young can come up with anything more outlandish about us, we promise not to deny it.  Now that’s fair politics.

© 1996 Puff Carpluto

Hey! Check out Jeff and Paul (Waldorf and Statler) on the Internet at

Insert ‘Web’ Pun Here:

By Paul Caputo and J. Schnell Carl

404 Error
Plug Magazine, January 1 1996

Plug Magazine ( was an early entrant into the Internet content space back when you had to call a website a magazine so that people knew what it was. It was… I’m not even sure I remember what it was. It wasn’t around very long, the domain is currently unused, and I can’t even find any cached copies on to remember what it looked like. So let’s just say that it was another predictably disappointing highway service plaza on the road to writing stardom for Paul Caputo and me.

The Internet is the greatest thing since “Knight Rider,” especially the episode where KITT’s evil twin KARR tries to kill David Hasselhoff.

Just think about it. A decade ago, when men were men, and Hungry Hungry Hippos was a great Christmas gift, the idea of a world-wide computer network accessible to the Common Man — or at least the Common Unpopular Teenage Guy With Pimples And No Friends — was beyond the wildest dreams of the world’s leading thinkers, even the people responsible for “Tron” and the song “Mr. Roboto.” Just five years ago, the Net was nothing more than a way for Matthew Broderick to almost cause World War III, or maybe a pastime for horn-rimmed-glasses-having, propeller-beanie-hat-wearing losers.

Today, however, the Internet is used by all kinds of horn-rimmed-glasses-having, propeller-beanie-hat-wearing losers. Companies now include Internet addresses on advertisements; lawyers and insurance salesmen print theirs on business cards or just have them tattooed to their tentacles; even the TV show “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman” has its own address, so that … uh … so … okay, we have no idea why the Hell they have a Web site. Write us if you figure it out.

In the old days (August 6, 1978 – April 2, 1983), it used to take months, even years, to send a letter down the street to your neighbor to ask to borrow a huge block of ice or some other common household item. Now, because of the modern miracle of the Net, you can’t correspond with them at all because your roommate has been on the phone with his girlfriend for the last hour.

Think of how the Net has changed our lives. For instance, according to one television commercial for CyberWorld or ElectroPlace or CompuPrincipality (or whatever), a dorky-looking guy (with horn-rimmed glasses) gets a really attractive woman to go out with him because he has E-Mail. 


(Of course, in the commercial they don’t show you, that woman had to change her address four days later to get “Pretzel Boy” there to stop sending her things like “Top Fifty Star Trek Pick Up Lines” and “Top Eighty Reasons Warp Transducer Coils Are Like Girls, If We Knew What Girls Were Like.”)

Also, sports fans no longer have to go through the expensive and time-consuming routine of actually watching sporting events. Instead, we can just “log on” to the “Web” or “Net” or “Mesh” or “whatever” and check the up-to-the-minute score updates on ESPN’s “Web” “site” (http:\\

Some day, the Internet will completely change the way the entire world functions. People will order pizzas with anchovies on the Net. They will call friends to see if they want to join in on an order of anchovy pizza on the Net and even digitally throw up from all the anchovies on the Net. All of the world’s problems will solve themselves because everyone will have gotten so caught up in finding Web pages like “Those Fabulous Goldfish!” or “IowaNet” or, more improbably, “Pluginc,” that they will forget that there ever were such things as Famine, Poverty, Tony Danza or the Late Seventies.

However, as you have seen on your local news (see the Local TV News Web site, http:\\, there has been some controversy surrounding the world of CyberSpace. If you missed your local news broadcast for the last ten years, what you missed was two car crashes, a kooky weatherman and a story about a surfing kitten. But you also missed a group of Concerned News People whose duty it is to tell you that children — we don’t want to alarm you, but they are PROBABLY YOURS — are being seduced by Pimply Electro-Sickos and photographed in compromising positions (such as in a figure-eight, speaking at Republican fund-raisers, etc.) These photos are then sent to other Pimply Electro-Sickos. 

Or, worse, people may be using the Internet — heretofore used only to view stills from “It’s a Wonderful Life” — to view pictures of women who, through no fault of their own, have VERY LARGE BREASTS and are NAKED AS A JAYBIRD. As you know, this sort of perversion causes Rampant Excess Sexual Thoughts in teenage boys. Then again, teenage boys get Rampant Excess Sexual Thoughts thinking about the Federal Budget Deficit, or even about sand. We can all see that this is the sort of CyberNudie-ness that has led to the nation’s alarming rise in Crime, Earthquakes, Death, Herpes and Squirrel Abuse.

What the news stations don’t tell us is that there is a lot of good that can come out of the Internet. Without Cyberspace, Jeff would have nowhere to get Simpsons sound clips to put on his computer (such as,”Aye Carumba!” and “Kill Nicole? Me?! Aye Carumba!”) Also, what would he do all day when he was supposed to be working?

That’s right. You guessed it. He’d be photographing naked children and sending the pictures to unsuspecting houses through the REGULAR MAIL. From this example, we can tell that the Internet is keeping an otherwise sick human being from perverting today’s youth any further than he already has.

So we can see that, on a scale of “all that” to “sucking like a Hoover or Paul’s old girlfriend,” the Internet is “good.” Without it, countless people would have to leave their rooms to make friends, and Trek Warp Coils Net would have never been founded. It has made the world a smaller place, allowing people on all corners of the world to communicate and, therefore, argue about such important matters as which level of “Doom XIII” is the “wickedest” and whether insurance salesmen and lawyers really have tentacles, or just are single-celled beings with no tentacles.

Or whatever.

SPECIAL NOTE: Be sure to catch Jeff and Paul’s weekly column, “Corn Ahoy!” on “IowaNet.”